Calm
by Old Fiat
Summary: And for the first time that day, Alex felt calm. One-shot. A kind of follow up to "Gifted Youngster" about Alex Summers. You don't need to have read "Gifted Youngster" to understand it though.


Old Fiat

**Calm**

Old Fiat

This is a kind of partial follow-up to my story _Gifted Youngster_. You don't have to have read it to understand this though.

I thought I ought to show what happened to Alex after he was adopted and had to leave Scott. This story begins at Dulles(t) International airport near Washington, D.C.

I hope you all enjoy this and have fun reading! Please review. :D

-Old Fiat s. Italy

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The crowd bustled through Dulles International airport. Announcements were called out every few seconds over the loud speakers, reminding people to keep their bags close to their person or they would be destroyed; conversations were held at high volumes in hundreds of different languages; wheels on suitcases squeaked across the floor and shoes clicked, thumped and squeaked. All these sounds combined forces in the cavernous building to create a huge cacophony of sound perfect for causing massive headaches.

Alex Summers dragged his small, black suitcase behind him as he crossed the airport. He would soon be at the gate and then he could wait for his flight to California in some kind of relative peace.

As he marched down the dirty white hallway, he tried to sort out his thoughts. First of all, he needed to get away from Washington, D.C. then…

Well, his plan only went as to get to his parents' house in Orange County. He hoped they'd understand. He had never told them about… it.

They weren't his real parents. He'd been adopted by them when he was about ten years old from an orphanage in Omaha, Nebraska. Shivers ran down his spine just thinking about the orphanage. He'd hated it there. The only thing that had kept him going was his older brother, Scott.

He didn't want to think about Scott, so instead he focused on the signs up near the ceiling. Soon he'd be sitting safely by one of the gates, waiting for his plane.

It took a lot out of him to fly. His own, biological father had been a military pilot and he and his mother had died in a plane crash. He'd only gotten through the flight from Omaha to Anaheim when he was ten by gripping his adoptive mother's hand as tightly as he could. Even now, when he watched the land slip away behind the jet, fear would clutch his heart, making it difficult to breathe.

He finally found his gate and sat down in one of the hard gray chairs. Placing his suitcase by his feet he gazed at the TV hanging from one of the white pillars. They were playing the news on mute with subtitles. He watched blankly as they reported on some senator's speech about global warming. It was so boring.

Every time one of the security guards walked past his heart sped up. He prayed that none of them would walk over to him and arrest him as an unregistered mutant. Even though it wasn't legal yet through out most of the country, Washington D.C. officials were already enforcing the mutant registration act.

And what he'd done that day had pretty much put a giant neon sign over his head saying _Dangerous mutant!! Arrest me!! _

Alex wondered if Mr. Anderson had already called the police on him, even though his intentions hadn't been bad. He had been trying to protect him for God's sake! Shooting streams of glowing white energy from his hands at the mugger had seemed to… happen, like instinct to protect somebody he cared about. But once the man was on the ground, unconscious, he'd seen his boss' face—shock, amazement and disgust.

"Mr. Anderson…" he'd choked out weakly. "Please… I'm so sorry, I just… It just…"

"Go," he'd said stiffly, his eyes cold. "Now. You're fired… Go."

And Alex had taken off running. Quite a few people had seen what had happened as well, so there had to be at least ten people that could've separately called the police, including his flat mate, who had simply stepped back out of his way as he ran off.

He looked down at the ticket and passport in his hand. He could remember the flight he'd taken with Scott from Alaska, where he had passed the first eight years of his life, to Nebraska. How hard he'd held his father's dog tags and how Scott had rubbed his back to try and comfort him, despite the fact that he was shaking quite hard as well.

Thinking about Scott hurt, but the memories kept bubbling up and he couldn't keep them down. The day Alex had to leave the orphanage without Scott for reasons he hadn't completely understood Scott had swore to him that he'd always write and maybe even someday visit him in California. But then, two years later he'd stopped writing for two months straight so Alex had sent him another letter only to get it back with the news the Scott had died. It said nothing of how he'd died but the news had left such an ache in his heart that he hadn't cared.

Alex blinked and tried to shove the memories to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the boring news story on the television. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a security guard speaking to the woman at the desk who was preparing to announce some more flight numbers. He saw the guard mouth the words '_an incident_', '_unregistered mutant_' and '_Alexander Summers_'.

Trying to be as discreet as possible, Alex got up and moved steadily towards the terminal, heart pounding and suitcase in hand.

"_Can Alexander Summers please come to Gate C-17? I repeat—can Alexander Summers please come to Gate C-17? Thank you._"

Alex quickened his pace. He needed to get out of the airport fast. As he neared the exit, the security guards began to close in around him. They must've looked up his passport picture and found him with the cameras. He bolted towards the doors but a man stepped out in front of him.

"Mr. Summers, I'm afraid we're going to have to take you in as an unregistered mutant," said the guard, keeping one hand on the gun in his hip holster. People stopped, starring at the thin, blonde man who wore a simple gray suit and held a nondescript black suitcase. Alex looked around at the guards surrounding him. Each was ready to pull out a gun on him.

Alex bit his lip. He doubted they were just going to register him and even if they did, he would never be able to find another job. But the only other option was to bust his way through the guards, cause quite a scene and probably become a wanted criminal. Either live on the streets, in shame and sick, or live on the run until he got to Canada or Mexico where they couldn't arrest him.

He chose the latter.

Putting his hands forward he focused on the large curved windows.

"What is he doing?" asked one of the guards, but his question was soon answered.

A burst of white energy shot down his arms and blasted through the enormous curved windows. The force knocked the guard who had first spoken to him off to the side. A giant hole remained in the window.

Grabbing his suitcase, Alex ran forward and out in the parking lot, the stares of the other airport employees and travelers still on him.

He bolted through the parking lot, sometimes going right past more security guards. A few bullets whizzed past him.

He finally located his car. Jumping in and starting the engine, he pressed the gas pedal and left the security guards running behind him in the dust.

Normally, Alex was very careful with road rules. If he was arrested they might make him register as a mutant. But that day he sped down the road, blind to the other drivers. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the many road signs became a blur. He soon passed over the state line into Maryland and drove quickly down the heavily wooded roads.

Unfortunately, he was going so fast he didn't see a large truck pull out in front of him. He crashed right into its side. The shiny black front of his tiny car crumpled and the windscreen shattered. He threw up his arms just in time.

The car fell back down to the road and he scrambled out of it, taking off with his suitcase into the thick forest that sat on both sides of the road. His suit tore on brambles and he pushed his way through the tangle of trees, bushes and tiny saplings. When he burst out of the other side of the forest, he continued running down the road. He tried to ignore the fact that one of his lungs must've collapsed by now and that his throat was on fire. His entire body was calling out for rest and water—he had to stop.

He fell down on the side of the road, panting heavily. His body heaved up and down and he tried desperately to catch his breath.

As he sat there, trying to breathe, a large black jet came down from the sky. He stood up as it landed in front of him. It was shaped almost like a paper airplane. It pointed sharply at the front and came out from there to a wide, but pointy, back. It glinted in the sun, huge and dark.

A hatch opened in the bottom and the bridge came down right in front of him. Had the airport security men bothered with this much to get him? It didn't feel right to him. Starting slowly, he took off running again.

"Hey kid!" he heard a shout behind him. He turned around as he ran and saw a man following him. He wasn't an ordinary looking man. His hair was gelled into two points and he had peculiar mutton chop-style sideburns. Overall very hairy, he appeared to be wearing some kind of odd, leather and spandex jump suit with revealed the large muscles bulging from most parts of his body. Alex continued running, despite the pain in his legs and arms from the numerous cuts he'd sustained in the forest. He knew that this man, whoever he was, would cause a lot more pain if he caught up with him.

Suddenly a large weight crashed into his back and he smashed against the road, skinning his chin and hands. He coughed hard as the weight was removed and looked up. There stood the man, gazing down at him with an annoyed expression. Alex held on tight to his suitcase and tried to stand up, but the man pushed him back down. Bracing himself for the next blow, Alex stared up at him. But the man just kept gazing at him blankly, completely silent.

"Who are you?" asked Alex, realizing that the strange man wasn't going to speak to him.

"Logan," said the man. His voice was as husky as the rest of him.

"Well, _Logan_," said Alex, trying to sound cutting without much success. "Are you going to let me get up soon because I really have to be going—"

Logan let out a loud bark of laughter. Looking up towards the sky, he shook his head in what seemed to be disbelief and 'this-guy-slays-me'.

"What are you gonna do, kid?" he asked, still chuckling. "Blow up another airport?"

Alex felt a flush of heat creep up his neck and spread over his cheeks. This… man, Logan, was laughing at him. He thought it was _funny_ that Alex could, quite possibly, be arrested. Once again, the blonde struggled to his feet, suitcase still in hand. This time, Logan didn't push him back down. He just continued to chuckle to himself, shaking his head occasionally.

"Listen, kid," he said, his laughter finally subsiding. "Don't get pissed, alright? It's just… Anyway, I have a proposition for you."

It was odd to hear the word 'proposition' come out of the mouth of a man who looked like he would be so at home in a trailer park. Logan seemed to think it was odd too, because he got a funny expression after he said it, like somebody had made him repeat some speech he didn't like.

"I'm not interesting in registering!" said Alex, his voice growing higher in volume and pitch by the second. "I _won't_ register, alright? You can't make me! It hasn't been voted for in Maryland yet!"

After a moments thought, Logan finally worked out what Alex was talking about. He shook his head once more, smiling.

"We're not gonna make you register, kid," he said. "In fact, we're gonna do sort of the opposite."

Alex's eyes widened.

"You're going to kill me?" he asked, frightened. He was annoyed as Logan once more laughed at his over-reactions.

"No, kid. Let me explain. What's your name?"

"Alex Summers…"

"Okay, Alex—I've been sent out here to get you by Professor Charles Xavier, the principal of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester, New York," said Logan, sighing and shaking his head slightly as spoke. "It's a kind of… safe house for mutants. You wanna go back there with me?"

Alex was silent. Weighing the pros and cons of the situation, he looked down at his feet. His shoes were destroyed.

"Why should I go to this school?" he asked finally, looking at Logan once more. "What makes it a 'safe house' for mutants?"

Logan took a deep breath before speaking. "It's a safe house because it takes in kids who have been kicked out of their homes and gives them a place to stay. It also shelters them from the ill-treatment they would receive in a normal school. With adults, it gives them, again, a place to stay and jobs." He gave Alex a smile that looked almost like a grimace. "As for why you should go, the man who Professor X told me is your older brother, Scott Summers, teaches math."

For a moment, Alex couldn't breathe. It was as though this last sentence had wrapped around his lungs, squeezing them tight. He felt a bit light headed.

"What?"

Logan just stared at him blankly, looking mildly bored.

Then the truth sunk in, letting the phrase that had brought a glimmer of hope fall away. It couldn't be his brother. Scott had died back when Alex was twelve. This had to be some kind of hoax, a cruel joke. It couldn't really be…

Anger and frustration pounded through his head and Alex just glared at Logan.

"You're a bastard," he said, turning away. Logan grabbed his arm.

"Woah," he said, forcing Alex to turn back towards him. "Why am I a bastard?"

"My brother died back when I was twelve." Alex attempted to pull his arm from the other man's strong grip. "Now let me go."

"Uh… you clearly have some faulty info," said Logan, keeping a tight hold of Alex. "I talked to your brother just this morning. He was in a hurry to get to his first lesson so he was being kind of bitchy…" Seeing Alex's disbelieving expression, he sighed.

"The professor gave me something for talking to you which I now see was a good idea." He reached into a small pocket located on the hip of his strange jumpsuit. He pulled out a crumpled Polaroid. He held it out for Alex, who took it. "It was taken yesterday."

In the photo stood a tall man in his late twenties to mid-thirties. He was wearing dark red sunglasses and a pale blue button-up shirt. He appeared to be halfway through speaking as he pointed towards something on a large white board behind him. On looking at it, Alex immediately recognized the thick brown hair, large lips and oddly shaped jaw. It was most certainly Scott—he looked so much like their father it was almost unnerving.

Alex looked up at Logan, shaking. "Why is he wearing those glasses?"

"He shoots beams of energy out of his eyes and he can't get them to turn off."

He said it casually, as though it were no surprise that a person could shoot energy beams from their eyes. Alex supposed he wasn't one to think of this as odd, considering the fact that he himself could send wave of bright white energy from his entire body.

"I'd like to go to this school," he said finally and followed Logan over to the large black jet.

--

They were some where over Pennsylvania when Logan spoke again. He appeared to be the only person who had been sent to get Alex. He also appeared not to be an expert at flying which made Alex very nervous.

Eventually, after a long time of just sitting in silence, Logan glanced back to where Alex was sitting.

"So what did you do before you blew up Dulles?" he asked. Alex jumped slightly, but quickly recovered himself.

"I was a secretary and personal assistant to an important CEO," he said and Logan snorted.

"Aren't those usually girl's jobs?" he asked, laughing. Alex flushed again.

"_No_," he said angrily and paused, waiting for Logan to say something. When he didn't, he thought it was probably up to him to start the conversation up. "What's your mutation?" he asked.

Logan stuck out a hand and Alex was surprised to see bright, metal claws cut through his skin. They glinted in the sun that came through the front windows. Slowly, the claws slid back in and the skin healed over.

"Woah…" whispered Alex and they were both silent again until they reached Westchester.

The landing itself was a little too rough for Alex's liking. Also the way the jet dropped right down into the basketball court of the private school creeped him out. The jet bounced slightly as it hit the concrete floor of the basement hold.

"Here we are," said Logan, completely unfazed. Undoing his seatbelt, he looked back at Alex. "Ready, kid?"

He gulped and nodded hesitantly. What if it wasn't really Scott? What if it _was_ Scott but he'd changed so much that… His thoughts were cut off by Logan pulling him up from his seat and leading the way from the jet.

They walked over to a good-sized, round elevator which moved quickly upward as Logan pressed a single button. Within a few seconds they were on the second floor and the doors reopened. They stepped out into a warm, wood-paneled hallway. The polished wood floor was covered with a plush rug which silenced their steps as they walked down the hall. At the end there was a dark, wooden door. Logan reached first for the knob, then thought better of it and knocked.

"_Enter,_" said a man's voice, but it hadn't come from the door and the room behind it. Alex wasn't even sure he had heard it. It seemed to just… appear in his head. He looked around sharply and he heard Logan's soft chuckle.

"You ain't goin' nuts, kid," he said, smiling. "I heard him too."

He turned the knob and the two men entered.

The office was very similar to the hallway—paneled wood walls with high bookshelves, polished oak floors covered by a rug. There were two large windows on the wall opposite. Sunshine bathed the desk which sat at the far end of the room. Behind the desk sat an elderly, bald man in a wheelchair. He looked up as they entered and smiled at Alex in a soft, almost fatherly fashion.

"Hello, Alex," he said. His voice matched perfectly with the one that had appeared in his mind before. "How was the jet ride coming here?"

Alex just blinked a few times. Who was this man? And why was he acting so casual?

"What?" he said, staring disbelievingly at the man.

"I apologize, Alex. I thought Logan had explained things to you before bringing you here." The man stared straight into his eyes, seeming almost to penetrate his mind. "My name is Charles Xavier. I'm the principal of this school."

"I told him all that, Chuck," said Logan, rolling his eyes. "I just didn't show him a picture of you too."

"Mr. Xavier," said Alex, beginning to feel a bit nervous. Had he made the wrong decision coming here? What if his brother really wasn't here at all, but as dead as Alex had thought he was? What would he do then? "I'm sorry if I sound rude, but… Logan told me that my brother was at this school. May… may I see him?" His voice shook a bit.

"It's _professor_ Xavier," said the aforementioned man, smiling at Alex. "And of course." He shut his icy blue eyes momentarily and then reopened them. "He'll be right here. Feel free to sit down."

Alex took the invitation and sat while Logan stood and looked out the window.

"Is there anything you'd like to ask while we wait for Scott to arrive?" asked the professor, placing his folded hands on the desk. "He still has a few minutes before he finishes teaching his last math class of the day."

There were thousands of questions Alex wanted to ask—how his brother had been resurrected for one. But all he could do was pause a few moments before asking, "What happened afterwards. At Dulles. I mean…"

The professor held up a hand to stop him speaking.

"It's all been taken care of. You won't be arrested, don't worry."

Alex took a deep breath, calmed. He had been terrified of facing the courts in Washington.

"Alex, I want to know, what is the situation like for mutants in Washington, D.C.?" asked the professor, looking directly into Alex's eyes.

"It's… it's… strange…" he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I mean, they're not chasing them down the streets but they're not being particularly… nice or open either."

"I've heard they're already enforcing the mutant registration act there, is that true?"

Alex nodded. "But they don't, like, hunt people or test the entire populace or anything, but you will be taken in if you're discovered to be an unregistered mutant."

"And that's why you ran after helping your boss?" He saw the surprised look on Alex's face and answered his unspoken question. "That's when I first spotted you."

"What d'you spot me with?" asked Alex, bewildered. The professor waved away the question with a flick of his hand.

"We'll talk about that another time. Scott's about to come in."

As he said it, there was a soft knock on the door before it opened slowly.

There stood Scott. He seemed almost to strut into the room, hands in his pockets. His red-tinted shades glinted in the light from the window. He looked cool and collected, but still seemed to hold a lot of respect for Professor Xavier—almost like the opposite of Logan, but he still had a bit of the other man's cockiness.

He didn't notice Alex at first and kept his eyes only on Xavier as he entered.

"Hello professor," he said. His voice was a bit higher pitched than Alex's, but he'd still know it anywhere. Scott still hadn't seen him. It seemed to so impossible to Alex, that to Scott… Well, Scott just assumed Alex was another mutant brought in by Professor Xavier. "Why'd you call me up here?"

"Scott, there's someone here you ought to meet," said the professor, gesturing to Alex. Scott turned towards the blonde, a friendly, greeting smile on his face, but it slid off the second he laid eyes on him to be replaced by a look of shock. "Scott, this is—"

"I know who he is…" Scott said, so shocked it came out as almost a whisper. Alex looked up at him from the chair—his heart had leapt up into his throat.

"Hey Scott," he said, standing up slowly. He was a little taller than Scott now—who was a little below six feet—but he still managed to make Alex feel like he was a little kid.

"Alex." He was still in shock, his hands shaking. He rushed over and embraced him.

And finally, after a day filled with utter madness, Alex felt calm.

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**-OFsI**


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